Hey hey everybody! This idea came to me as I was sitting in french class! I hope you enjoy! If I get enough reviews, I hope to turn it into a multi-chaptered story. Anyways, enjoy!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter...

Chapter 1

The Boy-who-lived sat in the corner farthest from the door. It didn't help though. He knitted his fingers in his hair, squeezing his eyes shut. The voices and flashes wouldn't stop.

They had sent him to Azkaban. They didn't believe him. He was innocent. He was 15. This wasn't supposed to happen when you're 15. He bit his lip, crying out, his voice joining the countless others, forever trapped in darkness.

Flashback

Harry sat in dumbfounded shock at the front of the courtroom. The chair--he had sat in it before--was holding him steady with it's heavy chains. He imagined what he looked like, pale and shaking, a bead of sweat trickling down his face.

The faces staring at him were a mix of emotions; sadness, disgust, resentment, hate. Some were showing all of these at once. His dull green eyes drifted over the people whom he had once trusted.

Ron was glaring at him with cold hearted fury. Hermione gazed out at him, tear tears--he was sure--were blurring her vision. The Weasleys' were...filled with so much emotion. Reamus was comforting Sirius. Sirius couldn't even look at him...didn't being his godson mean anything anymore? Harry tossed his head slightly, to get his hair out of his eyes. Dumbledore was looking at him with such sadness in his eyes. Hadn't they once sparkled for him? They didn't now.

Harry James Potter, you are accused of the murder of Neville Longbottem, by torture of one of the unforgivable curses. You are also accused of giving information to He-who-must-not-be-named. How do you plead?

The black haired boy didn't even bother replying. He knew what they were going to do. He dropped his head to his chest, and took a shuddering breath. This had to be the worst he'd felt in...forever, really. To have so many of your loved ones hate you...

You have no one now, Harry.'

This court finds Harry James Potter guilty of all charges, and is here by sentenced to Azkaban, for life.

He sucked in more air. Why couln't he get enough? He snapped his head up at the clapping. The faces blurred as he sodded silently. Why didn't they believe him? He was innocent.

The air around him went cold and he went completely still, knowing what was coming for him. They glided out, four of them, their horrible rasping breath seemed to rattle his bones. he felt fear in it's rawest from run down his spine.

Lily! Take Harry and run! No! Not Harry!...parents died in a car crash, you stupid boy. Kill him! Kill the boy!

Cedric's dead eyes.

Blood.

Neville lying on the floor, a shadow slipping out of the room.

Screams.

What he didn't realise was he was the one screaming.

End Flashback

It was bad. He saw it all the time. You'd think it got better over time. It didn't. His scar was on fire. He watched his left hand twitch, his skin white. Was he always this pale? He curled himself tighter into a ball.
Innocent
Innocent
Innocent

He cried out, pressing his hands to his scar. They were back. They loved him. He was a feast. They were touching him, their cold, clammy skin rubbing against his.
Blood

Fire

Laughter

Dead eyes.

When they were done, blood leaked into his eye. He was panting, trying to catch his breath. He weakly turned his head to the side and threw up.

But couldn't escape. He dreamed. he never escaped his nightmares. The cold stone floor was grinding against his back. Did he have a window? Even if he did, he couln't stand up.

His messy black hair fell in tangles in his eyes. He blinked, rubbing away the congealing blood from his scar. He braced his weight on his arms, watching them quiver slightly. How long had he been here? He looked to the wall.

Flashback

He sat with his back against the wall, his knees up, arms almost carelessly draped across them. For the first time he noticed his hair was a little longer. How long had it taken him to grow his hair that long? Maybe...6 weeks. give of take a few days.

He crawled over to his bed. It had an old spring frame. His fingers wiggled around the frame until he found what he was looking for. A loose stripe of metal. He turned the mental over in his fingers. He ran his fingertip over the edge of the ragged metal, cutting his flesh. He let himself give a small smile. Crawling back over to his spot by the wall, he stuck his finger in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the slightly abused flesh, taking back the blood he had spilled.

He held the metal to the wall, pressing down in a hard, fast downward motion, he did this several times until he was satisfied with the depth of the groove.

He worked on it for hours, scratching, watching the flakes of plaster or was it rock? Fall down to the floor.

His eyes sparkled for the first time in over a month at the work shown before him.

My nAMe is HARRY PottEr
42 DayS and CountINg...

He lay back on the semi-soft mattress. The screams seemed to be dulled, as if he had cotton in his ears. What a peculiar image he'd make, if anyone cared enough to stick there noses into his 10x12 cell. A boy, pale be societies standards, with inky black hair that lay tangled around his head like a knotted halo. It reached his collar bone now. He didn't know how his eyes looked. The lasted time her had seen a mirror was about 1 1/2 maybe 2 years ago. they had been a stunning green. Had their shine gone out?

He had been odd all his life. Ever more so when he had joined the wizarding world. But, even with all his oddity, no one knew how to do the kinds of things he did. Waking up in the middle of the night knowing how to do the most advanced dark arts. With the slight wave of his hand, he could send the bars rattling as if a herd of trolls had run into the side of the prison.

Oh, Harry. Maybe you should just break out. It wouldn't be hard... he voiced his train of thoughts out loud.

But no...your still waiting to be taken out, to have the satisfaction of them knowing they wronged you in the greatest of ways. Maybe make then suffer. he was used to talking to himself. It seemed less likely he would disappear if he talked to himself. It also was the only human voice he heard, besides howls filled with grief.

Well, if there's any justice left in the system, it'll happen.

He had bitten off all his nails (they grow fast, you know. You notice things like that when you're all alone in your head.) His once almost new robes, now ragged over time, had lost there colour. He guessed they had snapped his wand. He wasn't considered a real wizard anymore...unless you counted the ever feared wandless magic, of course...

Fire

Death

Dead eyes

He squeezed his eyes shut and let out a long breath. From what he felt, his face was still as smooth as it was when he was 11 years old. He could tell his body had grown some but not much. He could still be mistaken for 14, but...he could tell.

Are you really insane, Harry? I dunno...I am talking to myself.

Silence

He sighed and rubbed his forehead. His scar ached and burned constantly. Maybe each night someone poured hot liquid metal in the wedge of it. He wished the voices would stop.

...Quidditch Cup......pronounced dead... KILL HIM! KILL THE BOY!

He shot straight up, panting slightly. He didn't scream anymore. He had learned not to. They liked screamers. He looked out of the window, a single gleaming star winking at him.

When you...with, upon a star... he breathed out in a sing-song voice. He could feel tears burning his eyelids. Why couldn't he forget. Disgust on the faces of loved ones
...Sirius couldn't look at him...
Dumbledore shaking his head sadly.

He curled himself tighter, knowing the next words to be inscribed on the wall.

onCe You werE A STaR

-----

The people in the room stared at the man in the middle of the floor. An empty bottle of Veritaserum was on the oak desk.

What were you doing at Hogwarts?

The man's eyes tried to focus.
Mnnn I was getting.....information...nnn.

A dark eyed man scowled, opening his mouth to say something. An old wizard with blue eyes, put a gentle hand on the man's shoulder.

Easy, Sirius... Why were you there personally? Why did you not get an insider? Like you did before? Everybody knew of which the old man spoke. A tense silence filled the air, broken by the mans laughter.

Fools...it's just like my master said...human minds jump...so easily to betrayal. There never was a student...before. What do you mean? a cool voice came from the corner, a man with a slightly hooked nose stepped forward.

The Death Eater on the floor was silent, shaking with amusement.

What did you mean...sir...by the previous statement? The man's eyes glazed, and he looked as if he was trying very hard not to answers

...It was easy, the fire flicked hauntingly over the man's gaunt face, We knew we had to get the boy out of the way... A simultaneous chill shot up everyone's spine at the implications of that statement.
The Dark Lord knew the boy had a hero complex...he acted on that fact. I made sure he saw me...and slipped into the room where i had killed the boy...I remember the look on his face when he saw the body, the man gave a twisted smile. It made me giddy, and you tried him, found him guilty, and sent him on him merry way to Azkaban. My Master didn't even have to lift a finger. And with him out of the way, we will rule all. The man finished, then slumped into a dead faint.

-----

Harry licked the blood sticking to his arm. A thoughtful look crossed his features. pain made the flashes and voices stop. If there was pain in his body, his mind couldn't focus on anything else. A broken wrist2 weeks of freedom. Small deep cutshours of freedom ( highly effective) Burns days and days.

He knew it wasn't healthy, but who cared? No one. He turned 17...sometime. He knew that much. Maybe 2 weeks ago? His head hurt. He had fallen down, off the bed and cracked his face on the bed frame before banging his head on the stone floor. It happened when the Dementors came in. He almost sensed there laughter. He had a bad feeling his eye was going to swell shut.

if only they could see him now; Harry fucking Potter, laying on his stomach, forehead pressed to the grimy ground, a river of crimson running from his scar and mouth.

He felt goosebumps skim down his back as he pushed himself up. There was something going on, just down the corridor. Were they bringing someone else in/ There were some shouts, and his door burst open. He saw three dementors and a man in billowing black robes before his eyes rolled into his head and he passed out.

I got a new computer, so I can finnaly update.